Kidnap

She knelt astride my face and pushed her pussy down onto me. It was a kind of pinky-brown colour, her brown hair stopping short of her vulva. The position was difficult with my hands unavailable, but she placed a hand under my head and lifted me to her, the other hand supporting her on the bedstead as I sunk my tongue into her. She was very wet, and her pussy had the fragrance of a flowery soap. I licked her for several minutes, and she began to writhe her hips backwards and forwards on my face as she came with a series of groans. My face was soaked with her juice and she licked it from me, then kissed me, her tongue stroking mine.

That same day, in the evening, I was woken by an argument outside the door. Paul roared, "Fucker! Arrogant bag of shit!"

Goodie seemed to be crying, and wheedled "Paul, you can't, it's not her fault."

I heard the sound of a slap, then Paul snarled, "She's seen us you stupid bitch. You can't honestly have thought we could let her go."

I tried to sit up as the door slammed open and the light flicked on. Paul bustled into the room, a murderous look on his face, closely followed by Goodie, a hand pressed to one cheek. In Paul's hand was a large pair of what I thought were bolt cutters. He stomped over to the bed and snapped incoherently. "Your fucking father....he....bastard! Well, let's see if sending you back to him in pieces changes the fucker's mind!"

He reached above me and I craned my neck up and watched in terror as he positioned the blades of the bolt cutters either side of one of my fingers. I screamed and began to cry and beg him. As I squeezed my eyes tight shut and waited for the sickening crack of metal on bone, Goodie screamed, "Paul, no, please.!"

He paused, looked from me to her and back, then with a wordless roar hurled the implement into a corner and stormed from the room. Goodie followed him, and I think I passed out.

Sometime later, I felt myself being shaken awake. I saw Goodie's silhouette against the light from the ceiling. She was holding the bolt cutters and, as she reached over my head, I thought for one heart-stopping moment that she was going to complete what Paul had started. I yelped as I heard a sharp click, then realised that one of my arms was free. Goodie leaned across and cut the chain linking the two halves of the other cuff. As she worked, she muttered, "We go now. We stay, he kills you and probably me too. We go, he comes after us. We have no choice."

As I sat up, trying to rub blood back into my arms, I felt very confused. "Where is Paul?" I asked Goodie. I noticed she had the beginnings of a black eye.

Pulling me to my feet she said, "I hit him. While he was asleep. I don't know how badly I hurt him." She helped me into a tracksuit, far too big for me, and my own trainers, then led me through the bedroom door into a short dingy corridor. With exaggerated caution she undid the security chain on a front door and began to ease the door open. At that moment there was a low male groan from the room opposite the one where I'd been held. Goodie gave a sob of fear, grabbed my hand and we ran. I noticed I was on a sort of concrete parapet running past a number of front doors to flats in a multi-storey block. Most of the flats seemed to be boarded up. We clattered down three flights of steps to the ground, then ran across an open area towards a row of shops. We burst through a doorway and Goodie gasped to the occupant, a very surprised Indian takeaway owner, "Please, call the police."

To cut a long story short, the boys in blue found Paul slumped on his bedroom floor, a bloodied wound on his head. There was plenty of evidence -- the half handcuffs matching mine on the bed, my clothes stuffed into a cupboard, and Gudrun Reichs, as I found her name was, gave a full statement about Paul's abuse of me. She asked to speak to me alone, and said, "You will give evidence for me, yes? That I was his captive too, bullied into doing what he wanted. Maybe your father's lawyer can do a deal for me?"

I took a deep breath. "I'll tell the truth. How you helped abduct me, you chloroformed me, you stood by and did nothing while he assaulted me, over and over, you ignored ample opportunities to get help for me and only helped me to escape when it looked like he was going to kill us both."

Goodie stared at me in shock, he lower lip trembling. "But Tracey, liebchen, I looked after you, I cared for you...I helped you to escape."

I spat my answer at her. "You didn't do enough. Bitch!"

I haven't spoken to my father for a while now. He's put a huge amount of guilt money in a bank account for me, but I haven't touched it. With the newspaper exclusive, the book advance, the TV and radio interviews, I don't need it. I've started studying rape counselling so I can help other women. I'm not carrying Paul's child, thank God. Apparently his sperm count is so low you only need to use the fingers of one hand. I've been receiving regular therapy in the three months since it all happened, but the nightmares haven't gone away yet; I'm not sure if they ever will. But when I wake crying and screaming in the night, Andy's there to hold me and kiss me and reassure me. That's Andy as in Andrea. She's an aerobics instructor, ten years or so older than me. I don't think my experience with Goodie has turned me gay, but I'm off men at the moment. Andy's just as good at eating pussy as Goodie, her snatch tastes a lot sweeter, and she gives me all the love, affection, support and satisfaction I need right now.